David Hernandez wants you to carve your initials into his furniture. He’ll probably even loan you a pocketknife if you reach the bunkhouse and realize you have no way to leave your mark in the bunk bed rails. This is summer camp, after all. And at Camp Wandawega, camp rules are the rule.

David and his wife, Tereasa Surratt, bought the 25-acre camp in southeastern Wisconsin in 2004 with a plan to renovate a piece of history. They eventually began inviting friends, then paying guests, to come and stay. They call Wandawega a resort, but they want potential guests to understand exactly what they’re signing up for. There’s no A/C. Ladybugs usually hang out on the pillows. And the website promises, “If you’re the type of person who thought that the Waltons were a bunch of pampered little brats, then we believe you will enjoy your stay at Camp Wandawega.”

Pictured: This vintage Boy Scout tent, with World War II-era cots, is one of three at the camp.

The 86-year-old camp has had many lives. Trap doors in the floor of the main building hint at its life as a Prohibition-era speakeasy. The long line of small rooms in “the hotel” echoes a stint as a brothel. And an altar under big pine trees reveals its more recent role as a Latvian church retreat.

In the 1970s, David came to Wandawega on family retreats where Latvian moms from Chicago led their kids through summers of flag raisings, canoe outings, crafts and flying above the lake on a tire swing. By the 1990s, the camp had fallen into deep disrepair, and David saw a chance to save a legacy. So he brought Tereasa (then his fiancée) up from Chicago for a look.

“It had ceilings falling in, and it was full of raccoons,” Tereasa says. But then she saw old photos of the place and heard David’s stories about four generations of his family coming to Wandawega. And she signed on. “The deal I made with him was that we really had to commit. ... And we did.”

After nine years of work by David, Tereasa and practically all of their friends and family, Camp Wandawega has emerged as an island of nostalgia that seems like equal parts movie set, pop-culture museum and archaeological site. Tereasa crafted each of the property’s unique spaces as an authentic set piece picturing a moment anywhere from the 1920s to the 1960s.

With a budget of $200 per room, she went to work. Sometimes the camp provided treasures, like the large Fiestaware collection discovered behind a false wall in the kitchen. Tereasa estimates that a quarter of the decorating items were found on-site. Other pieces came from her tireless shopping of flea markets and secondhand sales (she lays out her strategies in her book Found, Flea & Free).

As the camp gradually came back to life, David and Tereasa (who still live in Chicago) began hosting overnight guests—guests who see the charm in a throwback vacation that requires a hike to the shower house. They can choose one of the hotel rooms, one of several small cabins, a teepee or a Boy Scout tent.

“People say, ‘It’s open air and bugs can get in!’” David says. “Yeah, that’s how camping used to be.”

Pictured: An early-morning canoe ride is one of many simple pleasures.

Keeping old-school camping alive means David and Tereasa are forever on the search for another cabin to rescue and move to the property to create one more walk-in time capsule. “We don’t really think of ourselves as the owners,” David says. “We’re just the stewards trying to pass it on to future generations.”

Pictured: The lodge features worn leather seating, blanket-covered cushions, vintage taxidermy and an antler chandelier. The Vs in the old Wandawega entrance sign indicate the time Latvian priests owned the camp.

A simple line of lanterns creates an artistic composition against newly exposed, white-painted rafters in one restored cabin. “As a rule of thumb, we didn’t want to pay retail for anything. Everything was happily found, free or flea,” Tereasa says.

Letters from letterman’s sweaters appear around camp. In the lodge, a letterman’s sweater was used to upholster an old chair seat. The bench cushion pictured is a salvaged and recycled mattress (with fabulous ticking and embroidery) found on-site.